


Remembrance

by TheGreenMeridian



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, M/M, Whumptober 2019, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 21:17:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20880833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreenMeridian/pseuds/TheGreenMeridian
Summary: Pavel reminds him far too much of another boy.





	Remembrance

**Author's Note:**

> For whumptober 2019, prompt 1: shaky hands.
> 
> My first foray into Pacho. I found him a little hard to write, I hope I got him in character.

“Fuck!” 

Bacho looks at the ruined cigarette floating in the dirty water. His last fucking one. What the fuck is wrong with him tonight? His hands have been trembling ever since they got back to camp and he’d thought that getting drunk and stalking off to have a cigarette in peace would get him straight, but apparently not. It was the kid’s fault. His face, somehow still drenched in innocence, looking at that dog and her puppies. It had shaken him up far more than it should have done and now here he is, staring at wasted nicotine and still trembling like a child. His head snaps up at the sound of squelching footsteps, and he could almost scream when he sees who it is.

“What the fuck are you doing out here? Give me a cigarette!”

Garo dutifully puts two in his mouth and lights them, eyes lingering on Bacho’s hands as he hands one over. They stand in silence, the only sounds are harsh inhales and the distant echo of drunken shouting from the camp.

“Where’s the kid?” Bacho asks. He spits on the floor and snorts a bitter laugh. “In the fucking tent trying to wank himself to sleep? Can’t blame him. Kid could use it after today.”

Garo says nothing. Bacho takes another drag of his cigarette and wonders if he was ever that young. Before all the shit he’s seen. All the shit he’s done.

“I found him in a building,” he says, more for his own benefit than Garo’s. “There was a bitch, she had puppies. He was just staring. I told him to go outside. I should have made him do it. He needs to grow up, grow some balls.”

He needs to grow up before Bacho loses his fucking mind, watching that sweet boy and all his compassion and kindness being chipped away at every day. He needs to learn how to drink and switch off and not... not look lost and vulnerable in such a way that Bacho finds himself torn between wanting to hold him tight and wanting to beat the shit out of him.

Pavel reminds him far too much of another boy. Short, scrawny, shy, just like him. Beautiful bright eyes, a smile you’d barely notice if you weren’t looking for it. And oh, how Bacho had looked for it. How he’d wanted to make it so the boy would never want to do anything but smile, especially after the kid’s first kill had him emptying his guts to the sound of their squad’s laughter. Bacho had told them all to get fucked that night, threatened to put a bullet in anyone who disrespected his boy. He’d protected him as best as he could after that, and he’d been proud of himself for being able to put those small smiles on the boy’s sweet face. It’d been nice, having someone to care for. Right up until he’d found the kid face down in his bunk with his brains dripping to the floor and a pistol still smoking in his hand.

The cigarette has finally burned down to the filter and he flicks it into the puddle to join the other. Garo pulls a bottle of vodka from his pocket and hands it to him with a raised eyebrow. After a long, deep drink of it he hands it back and looks down at his hands, the tremor still undeniably present.

“Get the fuck back to the tent,” he says, staring the other man down. Garo raises his eyebrow again, and Bacho represses the urge to punch him. “Get the fuck back to the tent, I’m tired of looking at your face, you ugly bastard.”

Garo slaps a hand down on Bacho’s shoulder and squeezes, an odd look on his face that Bacho refuses to try and decipher. The Armenian knows him too well and he hates him for it. He shoves a hand in Garo’s top pocket and gets himself a cigarette, shrugging his shoulder free of Garo’s grip before lighting it and taking a deep, cleansing inhale of the harsh smoke. With a small, knowing nod, Garo begins heading back towards camp, and Bacho hesitates for a moment before cursing and starting to follow. If he were capable of religion, he’d pray that the kid would be already asleep on his return. He can’t let Pavel see him this fucked up, the kid needs to believe that he’s strong. It’ll only make things worse for Pavel if he finds out he’s not.

**Author's Note:**

> thegreenmeridian.tumblr.com


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